Archive of Our Own

As far as rude awakenings go, this one's got to top the list. Nick is fairly sure it will never be topped, in fact, or at least hopes it won't, because waking up to this should be the most shocking thing a person ever wakes up to. If they have to wake up to it.

Which he's had to do.

Just a few moments ago.

"You've got tits, Harry," he squeaks out. "And you've – your cock – it's -"

"Not there anymore," Harry confirms and paws at his own naked body, which is – not his own naked body. Definitely not the body Nick saw him in last, the sweaty boy body he'd cuddled up to last night when they'd gone to sleep, glorious cock and all.

No. He'd woken up to Harry turning over and stretching and the first thing Nick had zeroed in were his breasts.

"Oh, fuck." Is he drunk? Is he still asleep? This can't be reality. First of all, it – isn't possible. Second of all, it isn't fucking possible. "Harry. Harry, pinch me."

Harry reaches out his – hers? His? His – decidedly smaller hand and pinches Nick's nipple. Hard.

"Ow!"

"Well, you asked," Harry shrugs, and he's got that smile on his face, that same smirk that plays at innocence and winds up nowhere near.

"Why are you so bloody calm about this?" Nick screeches, caressing his bruised nipple and being unable to look away from Harry, but really, really wishing he could. "What the fuck, how did this happen? Can this actually happen?"

"I dunno, it's – I mean."

Nick watches as Harry's smirk drops off his face, and he turns thoughtful, sort of patting himself down a bit. It's so strange, because it's still his face, but it's different. His jaw line's just a little less pronounced, the features just a little softer. Same hair he went to sleep with, though, now a crazy wannabe quiff greased into a mould of Harry Styles.

"I didn't think this was possible, either," Harry says, and Christ, his voice is different, too. He sounds like a husky woman now, instead of the slow honey drip of his own voice. Who does it remind Nick of? He thinks it might be Alexa. Not a bad thing, for sure, except that it's completely out of this world insane that it's even happening.

Oh God.

"So, what happens now? And why are you so bloody calm about this? It's not like you woke up and your hair was different," Nick notes with a distinct lack of calm, aware of his arms and hands going everywhere, but Jesus Christ! Harry's been turned into a girl, overnight, and now he's naked, in front of Nick, with his breasts everywhere. His hair is, in fact, the only thing that hasn't changed.

"Well," Harry says at his glacial pace, and looks down at himself. "It's sort of sick, isn't it?"

Nick nearly chokes on his tongue and thinks, hysterically, but I can no longer see your dick.

"Harry, I think I need a moment," he manages through the panic and clambers off the bed, running straight for the loo and shutting the door behind him. He tries to breathe, but then catches his own reflection and breathing quickly turns into hysterics, because he's stark-bollock naked, half bent-over, hair a complete mess, whilst his boyfriend's been turned into a girlfriend overnight.

And if there's one thing in this life that Nick had been certain of up until this morning is that shit like that only happened in the safe confines of his television.

There is also another thing he's been completely certain of for a while now, and that's his own complete and utter homosexuality.

Both of these things are now decidedly at war with each other.

Nick shuts his eyes and slides down until his arse hits the cold tile of the floor.

Oh, Jesus. Is this permanent?

*

"Nick! Nicholas!" Harry's pounding on the door, which is actually sort of adorable, because Nick hadn't actually locked it. Harry's just being his usual polite moppet self, which is almost enough to calm Nick down, but not quite. "Nick, fuck's sake, open the door."

The thing is, after acknowledging that this is actually a thing that is happening to them, has happened to them, Nick has no idea where or how to proceed.

First off, what the fuck. If this is permanent, Harry's going to have quite the mess on his hands. On his small girl hands. The band's on holiday, but they're still under contract for however many bloody years. Is he going to have to become one of Little Mix? Get plaits, sing about girl power? Nick can't even contemplate the sheer weirdness of this, so he moves on.

Because… There's problem number two. It's not as if he'll stop loving Harry with girl parts, of course not, it's just that, well. The entire time they've been together, they have enjoyed quite a healthy sexual relationship. Like, really healthy. And good. Really fucking healthy and really fucking good. Basically, Nick has never had anyone better, which is both sad and amazing. Probably both.

But, having snogged more than a handful of women in his lifetime, dated one, and lain between Alexa Chung's legs and not got even remotely hard, Nick is fairly aware of his own limitations.

Oh God. He buries his face in his hands and takes a deep, deep breath. In his whole entire life, not a single one of life's problems has been solved whilst sat naked on a bathroom floor. Safe to say, this will probably be the case here.

"It's unlocked, you moppet," he mumbles and the next moment, Harry's falling through the door. Nick looks up to see Harry's reflection in the mirror first, flushed and still naked – and still a girl.

Their gazes meet in the reflection, and neither of them says a thing. Harry's looking pleading, though, and sad, and Nick can't see his own reflection, but he knows he feels the same. Then they both switch to looking at Harry.

Objectively, it's quite the fucking sight.

The swallows over his chest now rest on the very tops of his breasts. They're not large, but even Nick can tell they're fucking gorgeous – pert and soft and full. Of course Harry as a girl would have beautiful breasts. The top of the butterfly is obscured by them now, which is so strange. Nick watches as Harry runs a slow hand over his chest, eyebrows drawn.

He's still got the extra nipples, which feels strangely comforting to Nick, nestled on his slightly rounded out belly. His ink is all the same, wrapping around his body just a little differently.

His waist is narrower, hips fuller.

Nick feels himself blushing like a kid as Harry's fingers skitter down to the juncture of his thighs. He's not even sure what he should call it, if he's honest with himself. Aimee's given enough drunken lectures on reclaiming cunt that he thinks maybe that's a good one, and Christ, is he seriously considering what word to call his boyfriend's vagina? Is this a thing that is actually happening? And how is Harry so fucking calm about this?

"God," he breathes and Harry quirks his eyebrows before turning around and actually facing Nick. His bum's leaning on the counter and it's so familiar in the reflection, and just a little different where his hips are wider.

He's never been the hairiest guy, and that's true for him as a girl. Nick looks up and down his legs, covered in light hair everywhere. Nick licks his lips.

"Sorry I freaked out on you," he manages, and his voice still sounds like he's going to pass out from hyperventilating.

Harry shrugs and looks down at his feet. Those are definitely smaller. He's still knock-kneed. Nick takes a deep breath and this time, it actually travels down his throat and into his lungs. "'S cool. I mean, I get it. I'm not, like, entirely calm myself, you know?"

Well, that's not as comforting as it could be. Nick wraps an arm around his knees and nods, looking away. He just can't figure out how to feel, or maybe just how to act, because he's so bloody confused by too many things at once. This is Harry, his Harry, only without certain bits that are integral to Nick's life.

Nick drops his head and rubs at his eyes and finally manages to get himself up off the floor. It's undignified, really, but at least they're both naked, so his flopping about isn't quite as embarrassing as it could be. By the time Nick's on his feet, Harry's extended his hand and then Nick's led out of the bathroom and back into bed.

Nick's first instinct is to curl in on himself, mostly because he feels like a prat, having freaked out when it's not actually his body that's transformed overnight, but Harry's having none of it. Still strong, he pulls and pushes until Nick's on his back, and Harry's pinned him in by his thighs.

"So," Harry says once he's sat on him like Nick's a saddle. "Can we talk now?"

Nick wants to, but all he can manage is a sort of mumbled "maybe", because Harry straddling him is normally one of his favourite things, but right now, it's just a little overwhelming.

"All right," Harry nods, taking Nick's mumble for an affirmative. "So, I'm missing my dick."

Nick nods, his hands sort of gripping Harry's thighs out of sheer habit. He clears his throat. "Yes. It would appear that that is a thing that has happened." And, oh God, every time Harry shifts, his – his cunt actually brushes Nick's belly, and it's damp, and Nick's body shudders. He can't pinpoint exactly what sort of shudder it is.

"Right," Harry nods, and it's only now that Nick can see Harry sort of freaking out a bit, himself.

"Is this forever?" Nick bursts out, then bites his lip. How would Harry know?

Harry shakes his head slowly, looking thoughtful. "I dunno. I don't think so?"

"How do you know?" Nick's palms are so sweaty, he's probably leaving little pools of horrible sweat on the sheets. He wipes them down surreptitiously.

Harry frowns and looks down at him. "I just…sort of do? It's weird, like, I'm not exactly happy about this, but I sort of…am?"

"Are you?" Nick's voice goes up about an octave. "And that's why you don't think it's permanent?" Nick has no idea why he's trusting Harry to just know that this isn't permanent, but then, he's not the one that's been turned into a girl. Maybe it comes with the package, so to speak. (Lack of package? Nick doesn't know.)

"No, no, it's more, like… I can feel that it isn't permanent? I just sort of know." He pauses and rubs one hand over his stomach, which is just a little softened, but still has the definition it had before. Nick doesn't think Harry's even noticed that he's touching himself, but Nick can't look away. The jut of his hip muscle is still there, too, and it's just a giant mindfuck, really. Harry's tattoos on a girl's body. Harry's history, Harry's strength, his whole self, wrapped in a slightly warped package.

Not that women's bodies are warped, of course.

"You're not warped," Nick blurts out before he can stop himself.

"What?"

"Sorry, just – I'm just a bit, you know -" he flaps his hand around, trying to find a proper word, which is sort of eluding him.

"Fucked up?" Harry says, and grins, and thank God, it's still his grin.

"Yeah. That's the one," he decides. "So, this isn't permanent," he prompts.

"Right," Harry nods.

"And, more to the point, you're not entirely unhappy about this?" Nick feels like maybe they've reached the crucial point here.

Harry's smile spreads fast, dimpling his cheeks. "God, no. This is incredible, isn't it?"

"Is it?" Again, Nick's voice hits an octave it hasn't resided in since before his balls dropped.

"Well, think about it – how many people get to experience being the opposite of, like, their gender? Like, for real. Like, Nick, I'm a girl," he says, in so delighted a voice, Nick's almost tempted to check his temperature.

"I know!" He really, really does. "It's not freaking you out?"

"'Course it is, but like, also, look," Harry says and reaches between his legs. "I've got a pussy."

Nick can't help but look as Harry's (smaller, girly – actual girl's) fingers slip straight in, and his expression changes from delighted to something that's sort of close to delighted but not quite. Nick knows his mouth's dropped open, but Harry's being decidedly forward about this whole thing in a way that's sort of difficult to process.

Also, his hand is currently lost between his legs and he's shifted close enough to Nick's dick that the two are bound to meet sooner or later. Nick just isn't sure he's ready.

"Oh my God, Harry," he groans, lost between embarrassment and bewilderment. "Stop that."

"What, why?" Harry asks without stopping his whole masturbatory session and Nick has to shut his eyes to think.

Honesty might be best, he decides. "Because," he says slowly, so Harry will understand. "I haven't had a naked girl straddle me since, like, basically, ever."

Harry pauses and slips his hand out, and Nick is trying very hard not to focus on how slick his fingers look. For fuck's sake. "What about your uni girl, what was her name?"

"Daisy," Nick says automatically.

"Yeah. Daisy. Weren't you two, like –"

"Yeah, like, once," Nick admits, and God, he should not be embarrassed talking about this, but something about Harry being currently a girl is bringing out in him. Nick can feel the tips of his ears and his cheeks flushing, going pink.

"Really?" Harry asks, interest clearly piqued. "How was it?"

"Ugh, fine? Just not, I dunno." Nick squirms underneath him, but Harry refuses to pick up on his discomfort, sitting back on Nick's thighs, pussy dangerously close to Nick's confused dick. "Not for me. That's sort of when I realised I wasn't into the whole girl thing."

"Hmm." Harry squints in a way that spells out trouble better than Taylor Swift in a chorus, and tilts his head. "Poor girl. But at least you have touched pussy before, then."

"Yes, Harold. I've touched pussy before," Nick says, making sure to imbue as much sarcasm into it as possible. It isn't his fault he's wired this way, and it certainly hadn't been Daisy's.

"Good," Harry grins and leans down, down until his tits are brushing Nick's chest, arse in the air, and Jesus Christ, the grin he gives Nick is pure fucking filth. Nick's heart is beating hard against his ribs, and his whole body is a mass of confusion. Harry smells different, even, but also familiar because that's his shampoo, and his aftershave. But it's his shampoo and his aftershave mixed in with a girl smell, heavy, musky, different.

"Why good?" Nick knows he's dodging, and he knows what Harry's after, but it scares him to think that he just may not be able to give it to him.

"Because if you were turned into a girl for a bit, wouldn't you want to experiment?" Harry asks, all white teeth and dangerous dimples. "You know, sexually."

Of course, Harry's first decision upon being turned into a girl would be to fuck as a girl. Of course. Teenagers, honestly.

"Thank you, Harold, I sort of figured that last part out," Nick manages after clearing his throat. The thing is, it's incredibly difficult to ignore a naked Harry Styles sat on you and touching you everywhere and saying things like 'sexually' even whilst having a cunt between his legs. Nick clears his throat again and attempts to look anywhere but Harry's face, which Harry is purposely making as difficult as possible. Nick's dick appears to be just as confused as Nick, and gives a twitch somewhere down below, as if it isn't sure about this, but – Harry. Nick's dick's always had a rather positive response to Harry.

"So, would you be up for it?" Harry asks, and God, isn't that just a loaded fucking question at this moment in time.

"Harold," Nick enunciates carefully. "If you haven't noticed, I am quite the homosexual."

Harry doesn't stop grinning three inches from Nick's face – if anything, his grin widens further, his nostrils flaring the smallest bit, and Christ, that's his sex face. It's difficult not to react to it even given the circumstances.

"I'd noticed," Harry says, and his voice, husky and low still, drips slowly between them. "Still me, though."

Nick doesn't quite know how to say but missing a few key bits without it coming out worse than he intends it, so he rolls his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek, looking beyond Harry's face. Unfortunately, the view beyond is that of Harry's bum high in the air, fanning out over his narrow waist, and it's obscene and dirty and fucking familiar, even if the contours have changed up a bit.

"God, you're just consistently the worst," Nick groans and lets his head fall back. Obviously, it hits the headboard and he winces. "Fuck."

Harry laughs at him, of course. "See, you're considering it," he says as Nick rubs the back of his head and refuses to open his eyes, because Harry's dangerous to look at right now. "Niiiiick," Harry whines, and Nick just knows he's pouting. For a brief moment, he's tempted to crack an eye open and see what it looks like on his current face, but then he thinks better of it.

"Harryyyy," he mimics instead, because this is what you get reduced to when dating someone who's just on the verge of no longer being a teenager.

The next moment, fingers start poking around his eyes. "Nick, seriously, stop that, look at me –"

Nick bats him away, because seriously, this is what Nick used to do his sister when he was six and she was ignoring him first thing in the morning, and sighs. "I will open my eyes only if you give me room to breathe."

Immediately, Harry's weight is taken off him in most places, apart from his lap, of course, because Nick is doomed to eternal suffering.

When he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is Harry's concerned-looking face – eyebrows drawn, mouth puffed out. Harry's always been pretty. In fact, it's sort of unfair that he has never even gone through an awkward stage, as far as Nick can tell – unlike Nick, whose awkward stage has somehow ended up making it onto the internet and made into memes by his so-called fans, and lasted approximately a thousand years.

Now that he's a (temporary! temporary) girl, Harry's even more classically pretty, though, which is weird. Shouldn't his face look wrong like this? It's vaguely unsettling, but cor, he looks a lot like Gemma like this. Another unsettling thought.

"All right?" Harry asks, and God, it's hard to talk like a normal person when his tits are right there.

"Ugh." Nick rubs at his face. Honesty, right. "You're you, I know you're you, all right?"

Harry nods, worrying at his mouth, lower lip plump between his fingers. Nick wonders if it's stranger to be talking like this whilst his hand is on Harry's thigh. He hadn't even realised until now that he's been holding onto him this entire time. "I just – don't know that I can change myself –"

Harry makes a clear move to interject, and Nick stalls him with a hand.

" – even temporarily. I know." Or, at least, hopes, for fuck's sake, "This isn't permanent. I'm just –" Just what, though? Super gay? Sort of scared of vaginas, if he's being perfectly honest? He looks Harry up and down, just to see, and says, "I don't want to let you down."

Harry's face transforms into a sort of 'awww' expression, and Nick rolls his eyes, because he's just about as far outside his comfort zone as one can get, and Harry's all endeared, for fuck's sake. "Let me down how?" Harry asks.

"Dunno, like, I won't be as into it as you? Or good at it?" Which is important to Nick, all right, because he prides himself in being able to get Harry off in a way that winds up with Harry having to be scraped off the ceiling – metaphorically speaking, of course – and now he's being presented with some serious unknown anatomy, and that cannot possibly go well for either of them. "Or hate it, Harry, what if I hate it?" he asks almost against his will.

"Hmmm," is Harry's response.

He's got his thinky face on, and it's Harry, so it takes a while for him to say anything else. Nick feels his heart beating out of his chest, because fuck, seriously, he has not been awake long enough for this sort of deep talk. Harry really should have given him some coffee before climbing aboard like that. Or, better yet, a cocktail.

"That seems like a legitimate concern," he says after a while, nodding and looking somewhat distracted. Then, he clambers down Nick's body.

"Where – what –" Nick watches as Harry slithers until he's faced with Nick's now totally limp dick, and hums. "Harry."

"Nick," Harry responds without even looking at him.

"Harold."

"Nicholas." Harry wiggles his bum until he's settled down into his favourite cock-sucking position and Nick throws an arm over his own face.

"Fuck's sake," he breathes just as Harry gets a hand on him and runs his tongue over the entire length. "Harry," Nick says again, only this time it's not exactly an admonishment, it's just that Harry's mildly bewildering at the best of times, and now, Nick feels like he's completely lost the plot.

"Just let me – let me do this, okay?" Harry breathes, and when Nick looks down at him from under his arm, Harry's mouth is red and he's watching Nick with those big, unchanged eyes of his, and he's so bloody earnest. His breasts are squished up against Nick's legs, and for some reason, Nick doesn't mind. In a different reality, he's probably a total breast man.

Nick bites his lip and nods. In Harry's hand, his dick jumps and Nick can feel it, that electric current that always seems to flip on like a switch.

"Okay, now," Harry says just as he licks a hot long stripe up Nick's cock, "close your eyes. All right?"

Nick obeys immediately, and as soon as he does, Harry takes him in his mouth. Nick lets out quite a noise, and then thinks, Harry's mouth is still Harry's mouth, which is an inane thought, but. It's a girl's mouth, too. Harry's and a girl's, and maybe the old adage is right – every mouth is still a mouth in the dark, because fucking hell.

He loses himself in Harry's seeing-to, the way Harry flutters his tongue up and down, the way he knows which touch will drive Nick crazy, and what to do when he gets him there. One of Nick's favourite things to do while getting blown by Harry is to watch him, though, and after a brief tug-of-war between his brain and his dick, he decides fuck it, and opens his eyes.

Harry's eyelashes, long and full as ever, flutter against his flushed cheeks. He's swaying his feet in the air back and forth, as always – they're just smaller now. His cheeks are hollowed, and his mouth is obscenely red, wet, stretched full of Nick's dick. Nick groans, grabs a handful of Harry's hair, and squeezes.

Harry gives a quick moan and Nick's lost in blissed-out land for a brief, ecstatic second, before Harry pulls up and off. "Fuck, I'm so fucking hard for you," Harry says, and Christ, his voice is just as rough as it always is after sucking dick.

Nick has to stop and actually think for a moment, because his brain's had a bit of a scramble this morning, and that was before the blowjob, then says, "Wait. You haven't got a dick."

Harry, hand still on Nick's cock, shakes his head, like he's clearing his thoughts, and looks at Nick with blown eyes. "I know, it's just – it feels like it? Sort of… Like – not hard like a dick, but –" He closes his eyes, eyebrows drawn. Nick doesn't move because at least Harry's hand on his dick is something, even if he's not doing anything with it, but also, he's just not sure what to do at this very moment in time. "Still hard, I can feel it, it's all swollen," Harry finally says, and Nick nearly chokes on his tongue.

"Show me," he says before he can think about it, and Harry scrambles up the bed.

"Nick, Nick, this is so weird," he babbles, landing next to Nick on his back, then spreads his legs, his hand going directly between them. Nick's still hard, and turned on, and he doesn't even think before his fingers join Harry's.

Jesus. He has to fumble a bit to where he's fairly sure he's not pinching anything, but then.

"You're so hot, like, actually hot," he says, and he thinks maybe this would be better with some alcohol in his veins, some excuse, maybe, and not at ten in the bloody morning, with the sun shining through his blinds. But when he looks at Harry's face, he doesn't need an excuse. "And wet, fuck." Christ, this is weird.

"Mmm-hmm." Harry's voice is breathy. He's got his eyes shut, eyebrows drawn, and he looks like he's concentrating, of all things. Nick has no bloody clue what he's doing, but he wants Harry to be enjoying himself, at least, and not looking like he's revising for an exam.

"What can I – d'you – I mean, I'll get out of your way," he says, beginning to withdraw, when Harry catches his wrist with his free hand and shakes his head quickly.

"No, God, stay," Harry says immediately, and his voice is strained, clipped, low. "This is – this is fucking – "

Nick, fingers still sort of fumbling in the general area of Harry's, feels the press of Harry's thumb against his own and when he catches sight of Harry's flushed face, he realises they must have fumbled their way across a particularly effective sort of spot, because Harry's eyes fly open and he makes a strangled noise.

"There, there, keep – there, like – like that, oh fuck," he rasps.

Nick can feel it, sort of, pulsating and throbbing under his thumb, actually hard, and he has no bloody clue how anybody can ever get this job done, but he does his best, rubbing his thumb in a small circle, worried he'll lose his spot. Everything is slick, and Harry's pubes are a bit in the way, God, this is so confusing. Harry has now abandoned Nick to it, both hands clutching the sheets, head thrown back, wet mouth open, obscene, panting. Nick's all on his own, now.

He is aware that he shouldn't still be this hard, knuckles-deep in a cunt, but he is. Harry's face, Jesus, and his thighs are trembling, Nick can actually see it, and he's concentrating so hard, he nearly misses it when Harry spasms, once, then twice, and then Nick's mouth goes dry. Harry gasps and squeezes his thighs hard, trapping Nick's hand between them. Nick can't tell which one of them is shaking more, but he can feel it everywhere – especially around his fingers, the wet heat of Harry squeezing the life out of them.

He makes to move away, thinking maybe it's too much for Harry, but Harry just squeezes harder, grip strengthening around Nick's wrist.

"'M not done," he grits out, throwing his head back on a moan the next second.

"Fuck."

It feels like forever. Harry's crying out in a way that's unfamiliar, his face is deep red, glistening with sweat. His nipples are hard as fuck, God, and Nick can't look away from the way the birds on his breasts curve and flutter with each breath.

Finally, Harry releases Nick's hand, and Nick can't believe they actually got him to orgasm as a girl. Harry opens his eyes and pins Nick with a blown gaze. "Fuck me," he pants.

Nick, voice slightly hysterical, says, "I know!"

"No, no, you have got to fuck me like this," Harry says, licking his lips.

"Oh." Nick, two sluggish steps behind, says, "What was that like? Looked sort of – intense."

Harry's looking right fucked out, and a bit slow himself. "It was," he answers. "I'll tell you all about it if you want, if you just put your dick inside me." Nick blinks. "Please?"

Nick can barely get his "okay?" out before Harry's throwing him over onto his back and climbing on top of him, hand going immediately for the bedside table. Nick's entire head feels like it's been put on backwards and he can't quite catch a single thought apart from, oh, this is happening.

And it actually is. Harry's shockingly quick with the tearing open of the condom, and Nick's about to tell him not to forget the lube when he catches himself.

Right.

Above him, Harry is frantic. One second he's tearing into the packet, the next, he's slipping the condom onto Nick's dick, which is still well hard, as if it's forgotten certain brain signals.

It would appear, though, that the signal of "Harry Styles naked" is, in fact, stronger than "about to fuck girl parts."

"Shit, this is weird, like, I just came but I fucking need it again," Harry mumbles, gripping Nick's dick, and raising himself up and lining up against it. Well, business as usual, then, really – boy Harry sometimes does need a good five minutes in between sessions, but this'll do.

Nick makes a cut-off "hngggh" sort of noise, and licks his dry lips. Is Harry trying to have a conversation right now? Because Nick's not sure he's quite up for that, if he's honest. It's a bit overwhelming just watching Harry's tits bounce as he moves himself up over Nick and attempts to sink down. But Nick supposes he did ask Harry what it was like, and Harry promised to tell him. Maybe Nick's input isn't actually required right now.

He manages to catch Harry's hips in a tight grip on both sides as Harry fumbles to find the right spot. He's got Nick's cock in quite a grip, frowning and shifting around until he finds where to aim it. Once he does, though, he sinks straight the fuck down until Nick's all the way inside.

They both groan.

Harry's hips beneath Nick's hands are soft, a bit wider to the touch, but the familiarity of his skin grounds Nick. He fits his thumbs into the two grooves of Harry's hip flexors, still prominent, and bites his lip.

"Fuck, Nick." Harry clenches all around him, and it's tight and hot and just enough different from the usual way that Nick can't catch his breath. He squeezes his hands, urging Harry to move, just as Harry slumps forward and catches himself with one hand over Nick's chest. "I can't – this is – you're so fucking big, you feel so fucking big -"

Nick would think Harry'd have got used to that by now, considering how many times Nick's fucked him, but Nick's not the one with a vagina right now, he wouldn't know. As it is, he just gasps when Harry clenches even tighter around him, and says, "Hazza, baby – you've gotta move, I can't – " He might blow it before Harry gets anything from him at all, if he's honest.

Harry nods frantically, fingers gripping Nick's chest and hair and it stings, but not enough for Nick to want him to stop. Instead, Nick tries to help by lifting Harry's hips up and slamming him down, and Harry cries out. "Do that again – I'll – do that again –"

Nick does. Harry helps, getting with the programme, and once he does, things start to blur a bit. Harry squirms a lot, as if he's attempting to find a good spot, and Nick has to control himself quite a bit to make it last. He squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them back up again.

It's weird how he doesn't want to miss seeing this.

Harry's hair is in his face, obscuring his eyes a bit. His mouth's red and wet and panting and Nick loves watching his mouth during sex. During all times, really, but in this context in particular, when Harry's panting just for him. What's new and all sorts of different is how Harry's tits bounce with each movement of his body, his nipples hard and peaked and Nick has no idea what drives him to it, but he grabs Harry's arse, pulls him down, and scoots up on the bed as much as he can before sitting up, dick still buried inside Harry, and taking one of his breasts into his mouth.

Harry cries, then hisses. Nick feels a jolt all through his body at the sound, how hot it is, how much he wants to hear that again. He may be gay, but he isn't sure there's a person in the world who'd be immune to Harry Styles's breasts, especially when Harry reacts like this.

Harry lines up his mouth with Nick's ear, and Nick shivers when he says, "Nick, fuck -"

Harry's tit is soft and his nipple is so fucking hard, bigger than when he's a boy. Nick sinks into the feeling of it, something almost comforting about it, then lets go of it, moves onto the next. Harry gasps and whines in his ear. Harry's bum underneath his hands is sweaty, full, and god, it feels fucking good. The next moment, Harry wraps his arms around Nick and hoists himself up higher and sinks down again, and it's so fucking good, and wet, and tight, the air electric between them.

"Nick, Jesus, I wish you could feel this right now," Harry mumbles, and his voice is low, but Nick hears every single fucking pitch of it, shivering down to his bones. He stutters in his rhythm a bit, then starts up again, and at some point, it hits him that Harry's given up on doing any of the work, and it's all Nick now, his hips and hands guiding Harry up and down, and it's bloody incredible.

"H-how," he asks, "how does it feel?" He doesn't stop moving, memories of his girl friends complaining about not being able to get off from constant shifts of pace floating up from somewhere in the back of his mind. God, he's actually nervous.

"Mmm, God, I dunno," Harry says, oblivious to Nick's performance anxieties. "Just – like, everything is wet and – and – I dunno, full or something –"

Nick squeezes his eyes shut and wonders how the words wet and full almost make him come right on the spot, but it's possible it's got something to do with Harry and his fucking voice, still amazing even in a girl's register. Nick licks his lips. "Yeah?"

"And coming like a girl, God, it just, like, it doesn't end and it's all, like, wave-y and mad, it's sick," Harry babbles.

Nick grabs a handful of his hair and tugs hard until he can line up their faces and devour Harry in a kiss. He can't not, he's so far gone, and he's close, too, so close.

Harry kisses him back, tasting exactly the same as always, like sex and want and musk, and Nick loses track of their kiss at some point. He keeps fucking Harry, hard and fast. He dimly hopes that Harry gets to come like this, but knows he can't do anything about that in this position. If Harry still had a dick, it'd be rubbing up against Nick's stomach, at least, getting some friction, but right now, Nick's just not sure what's happening down there at all.

Harry appears to, though. He cries out, clenches all around Nick, forcing stars to shoot behind Nick's eyelids, and squeezes his thighs. He goes entirely still, and Nick nearly loses his mind because what's he supposed to do? Is he meant to stay still as well? Should he keep moving? Fuck, he's so close, he's not even sure he's got a choice in the matter. Harry breaks off their kiss, bites Nick's jaw, and trembles in his arms. The next moment, Nick feels it – it's a familiar spasming around his dick, but not, because fuck, it feels like it's forever, and even through the condom he feels how fucking wet the whole thing is, how hot.

Harry goes completely tense and still and quiet, and that's so fucking weird, because he's one loud motherfucker when he comes, usually. This time, his gasp is entirely silent, but Nick can feel it, hot against him.

"Fuck, Harry -"

Harry squeaks and all the tension goes out of him at once and he trembles, honest-to-God trembles, in Nick's arms. His voice cracks around his cry. Like last time, it seems to last forever, and as soon as he's done, he grabs Nick's face and orders, "Come. Come on, come on," and starts to move again.

Nick doesn't need to be told twice. He's so warm and sweaty, it's oppressive, and he's amazed he didn't come just from the feel of Harry coming around him, but he's bloody fucking ready to do it now.

Before he can think better of it, he grabs Harry round the back and levers himself until he can slam him down onto the sheets, and fuck into him. He catches sight of Harry's pleased grin beneath him before he grinds in once, twice, and buries his face between Harry's tits as he comes, so fucking long and hard, he near loses his mind.

Turns out burying your face between someone's tits whilst they're lying down is not as comfortable as one might imagine. His nose is squashed against Harry's sternum, and he's still balls-deep inside him, slowly going soft, and now that he's come, some semblance of clarity is returning to his brain, alongside the blood flow.

"Holy fuck," Harry breathes above him, half-laughing, though it sounds a bit like shock, too. Nick can really relate.

Jesus.

He pulls out carefully, listening for the familiar hiss from Harry, then basically falls over onto his back and pants up at the ceiling. Did he just – "Did I just seriously get off in your -"

"I – I think I've got to wee," Harry interrupts, and Nick just watches dumbly as he scrambles off the bed and runs for the loo. Harry doesn't bother closing the door, which leads to Nick trying to stifle giggles as Harry stands in front of the toilet, then slaps his own forehead and sits down onto it, instead.

"This is fucking weird," he tells Nick, chin propped on his knee as he does his thing. "This weeing sitting down business."

"Oh, this is the weird bit," Nick notes. Personally, he thinks watching Harry's breasts sort of resting on his belly as he's bent over is also a bit weird. It's all a bit part and parcel, though.

The last hour of his life flits before his mind and it's only gone eleven, but Nick becomes aware of a great need.

"I'm getting the vodka out," he announces and heaves himself up out of bed. He rids himself of the condom, wincing a bit at how wet it still is and from what, really, then pads out to the corridor. He has to brace himself one-armed on the wall for a bit because all right. That had been fun, but it's not – it isn't –

What if Harry's wrong?

What if this isn't a temporary thing?

Forget all the other important logistical things like HARRY STYLES COMES OUT AS FEMALE, HAS INSTANT SEX CHANGE and all that, what about Nick and his homosexual penis?

What happens then, when Harry is just a girl forever, and Nick wants to suck some cock, wants to feel Harry's hard boy body against his own, fuck, wants his boyfriend back?

He lets go of the wall and heads straight for the booze cupboard.

Chasers are for wimps, so all he gets out are two shot glasses, and calls it a plan. The vodka's luckily completely chilled in the freezer. He struggles to twist it open and ends up squeaking as the cold bottle grazes his belly whilst he's prying it open, but once he does, he fills both shot glasses, and downs each in turn. The burn goes down rather well for so early an hour. Best not make it a habit.

Then he fills them up again, turns to leave the kitchen, and yelps.

"So, was I the only one who enjoyed that back there, or what?" Harry asks, leaning naked on the doorframe. He's grinning and already holding out his hand for the shot glass, but Nick's known him for a while. That's his worried grin, right there.

Nick hands him the full shot glass, then slumps against the counter, hand going automatically to his hair. "No, it's not…" He pauses, attempting to sort out all of the complicated feelings mixing in with the booze. When he looks at Harry, Harry's already holding an empty glass. Nick reaches for the vodka and refills it before doing the same to his own and taking Harry's hand in his.

"C'mon," he says and tugs Harry back into the bedroom.

His bed's still a mess of tumbled sheets. The duvet's slipped entirely to the floor, and the pillows are definitely not where they had started out the night before. Nick sets his vodka down onto the bedside table and attempts to find his pants in the mess. It just wouldn't do to have this conversation completely naked.

Once he's located his briefs and tugged them on, he turns around to see that Harry's not only put his own pants back on, he's also found his t-shirt. For a brief moment, Nick feels a certain sadness at no longer seeing Harry's perky boobs on full display. Then he thinks, he'll need a bra, if this is permanent.

Then he downs more vodka.

It goes down less smooth this time, and he wishes he hadn't been so cavalier with the lack of chaser, but he coughs through it and arranges himself against the headboard of his bed.

Harry's still stood in the middle of the bedroom, and he's watching Nick a bit warily, as if uncertain of his place all of a sudden.

Nick is an utter arsehole.

"Come here," he says, and Harry immediately does. If Nick is honest with himself – and the vodka does help with that – Harry looks gorgeous like this. His t-shirt's slung a bit low and his nipples are perked up under the fabric, pushing it out a bit. His briefs are looser in the front, but hug his hips, and he's just sort of the cutest thing Nick's ever seen.

Christ, what is even happening.

Nick opens up his arms and Harry melts into him. His hair tickles Nick's throat where he's nestled himself against Nick's chest, and his hands, still tattooed and strong-looking, even smaller, go for the waist of Nick's underwear. Sometimes Harry's like a puppy, really, his anxiety coming through actions rather than words.

"Sorry I freaked out a bit," Nick makes himself say, even if he's not sure that he's feeling any less freaked out at the moment. His bed still smells like sex, only different than normal. Harry's musk clings to the sheets and Nick's skin and it's so fucking wild, so out of the realm of what Nick's used to.

"No, I get it," Harry says, voice quiet. "But it really is temporary, Nick. I know it is."

Nick just breathes instead of answering. It's not that he doesn't trust Harry here, it's just that it's hard to trust something that you never believed could happen in the first place.

"You didn't think this was fun?" Harry asks after a pause, and Nick has to laugh, because he thought he had sort of been clear about that.

"Did I not fuck you into the mattress?" he asks, playing with Harry's curls and tugging a bit. "I thought I did pretty well, but if you've got a different rating for me –"

Harry slaps his hip, but Nick can tell he's smiling. "Shut up, you were brilliant." He says it matter-of-factly, and Nick's ears go warm.

"Maybe we should do, like, an informal poll, get down to the nitty gritty of it," Nick says instead of a thanks. "What'd you think, like, how was the finger work? Was it all right? What about the deep dicking? You up for filling out a questionnaire or – ow, stop it, Styles, stop that." Nick breaks off, laughing, Harry's quick fingers finding his most ticklish spots easily enough. Nick squirms and possibly knees Harry in tender places, but it's not his fault, he is an extremely ticklish person. "You tosser, stop, stop, stop, ah God, not the feet, no, not the feet -"

He runs out of breath, and attempts to pin Harry in place, but he's proving elusive for once. He's laughing too, and only stops attacking once he's secured Nick between his thighs, hands gripping Nick's wrists by his sides.

Nick's last laugh is hiccup, torn out of him, and he's pretty sure he's got tears in the corners of his eyes, but he thinks he needed that. He's light-headed and tired but the sight of Harry straddling him, breasts swaying a bit under his t-shirt, doesn't freak him out anymore. The grin on his face is pure Harry, cheeky and wide and dimpled as always. Nick's heart beats fast, and he doesn't think it's from the tussle. He makes a tiny move towards him and Harry gets there first.

His kiss is sweet and shallow, the echo of their laughter still buzzing between them. Nick chases his mouth, not wanting to break the spell.

"You still freaking out?" Harry whispers.

Nick assesses himself. "Dunno. Think I'm just tired now."

"You're so old," Harry says with a laugh. "You want a kip? I did wear you out…"

Nick would slap him, but Harry's got his wrists in a grip. "Cheeky monster," he says instead, then bumps their noses together, lands a kiss on his lips. They both taste of vodka, and maybe it wasn't the smartest choice at this hour of morning, but Nick is feeling pretty good about it anyway.

"Have a lie-in," Harry tells him, all traces of cheekiness gone, just his smile left over. "I can entertain myself."

Nick can't help raising his eyebrows. "What, while I'm asleep?" His brain helpfully flashes back to when Harry had done just that a half hour ago.

"Not like that, you pervert," Harry rolls his eyes. "I'm actually kind of sore, I think." He scrunches up his face and wiggles around. "Anyway, I know which way the telly is."

Nick would fight it more, but the idea of a mid-morning nap actually sounds rather lovely to him. Harry releases him and gives him a quick peck on the nose before scrambling off the bed. Nick rolls over and wrestles with the bedcovers until he's under them, pillow puffed to perfection. He'd try to keep Harry in the bed with him, but Harry can't be pinned down unless he wants to be pinned down, so Nick lets it go. "Don't tweet any selfies," he tells him, and Harry sticks two fingers up at him over his shoulder before closing the door.

Nick wriggles down into the bed until the covers are over his face, and falls asleep.

*

Throughout the day, Harry parades around Nick's flat in the nude several times, clearly just because he can. He straddles Nick whilst Nick's sat on the sofa watching telly and attempts to suffocate him with his boobs. He makes them a giant fry-up but then manages to nearly set the flat on fire making toast; he announces every time he's got to wee sitting down, then narrates the experience by shouting through walls; looks down at his own chest and down his pants a million times an hour.

They had had plans of going shopping with Sadie and Collette, but obviously canceled them, and Harry is apparently not only experiencing a sex change, he's also entirely cabin-fevered.

"For crying out loud, go out in the garden," Nick tells him for the thousandth time, but Harry just shrugs.

"'S not the same," he tells him. "And it's cold."

It's not. It's just not hot enough to stay out there naked. "Put some clothes on," Nick advises whilst googling aubergine recipes because he's got a sudden hankering. Too bad he's got no actual aubergines in the house. "Then it won't be cold."

When he looks up, Harry's pouting at him. His hair's been a mess since he woke up, and neither of them has bothered showering. Their only nod to human decency and self-respect was to clean their teeth. Harry had attempted to narrate that experience, as well, but Nick was quick to point out that he was fairly certain there was no discernible difference between male and female tooth-brushing techniques. Harry looked like a muppet, regardless of sex, anyway.

Nick sighs. "C'mere," he says, and sets his laptop down onto the coffee trunk. "You're clearly after something, so spit it out."

Harry makes an incredibly unconvincing liar. He shrugs, like Nick's not onto him at all, then saunters over to plop his pants-clad arse next to Nick on the sofa. "Just bored," he says, then looks up Nick through his eyelashes.

Nick bites his lip. "Bored, are you?"

Harry shrugs again and twists the hem of his t-shirt between his fingers. The movement exposes the swell of one of his breasts, his necklace hanging low next to it. "Yeah. Bored."

"Hmmm," Nick says, and squints.

*

Nick's got Harry's bum gripped tight as he fucks him, bearing his weight down onto him. Harry's long legs are wrapped tightly around Nick's waist, and he's leaving stinging marks on his back, short nails digging in. God, the noises Harry's making, broken vowels and panting gasps, all reverberating through Nick's body, setting his skin on fire.

Nick shudders with each thrust, closer and closer to coming. He's losing his mind. Feels like they've been fucking for hours, and they have – just not all in a row.

He's amazed Harry can still take it, in fact, can still find pleasure, still beg Nick to fuck him harder, faster, yeah, like that. Nick can't believe he's still got it in him, either.

There's sex marathons, and then there's today.

Today, when Harry had straddled him right there on the sofa and fingered himself, hips snapping forward, cunt brushing against Nick's thighs and hard-on, and Nick could barely move. Harry had come with his forehead buried in the crook of Nick's shoulder, mouth open on a silent gasp while Nick had watched, mesmerised, as Harry shuddered and trembled through it. All he could do was cling to him, hands buried in Harry's curls, and everywhere they touched had been scorching and breathless and wet as fuck. Sweat, spit, slick, all of it his and Harry's, all of it smeared across their skin and on their lips and tongues. They kissed so much and so hard that even after coming, Harry had ground down against Nick's boner, shuddering. All Nick could do was hold onto Harry's arse and come in his pants, right there, right on his sofa, his tongue buried in Harry's greedy mouth.

After that, they went to the bedroom and never really left. There had been a brief adjourn to the door when the pizza'd arrived, and a few refreshers of their drinks (mostly of the throw some vodka in it and down it variety) but those were all a haze between sex and sweat and Harry's body crashing against Nick's, wrapping round him, driving him to the edge and over. It was all a blur after a while – hands and tongues and Harry's mouth on Nick's cock, Nick's fingers edging across Harry's arsehole, bringing him off two-handed, Nick's face buried against Harry's belly.

There had been another kip, both of them this time, Harry's tits squished up against Nick's back, always the big spoon, even when littler.

Now, when Nick finally comes, it's almost dry, close to painful, but fucking incredible, anyway. Harry's tense beneath him, buzzing with unspent energy, still, and Nick makes quick work of pulling out, allowing Harry the space to finish himself off.

Nick's bedroom is dark, but he can still see Harry's hand move between his legs, watch the filthy movement of his fingers, hips twitching, fucking up against his own hand, breath coming harshly in the dark. Nick doesn't think before his mouth's on Harry's tits – his beautiful, full, soft tits – sucking on each nipple in turn, taking in Harry's gasps, each tremor reverberating across Nick's skin. They're connected by a live wire, all sparks and trembling breaths. Nick can barely feel his hands and toes.

"Nick -" Harry pants, and on the next movement, he tenses and stills, voice cracking. When he comes, it's like waves crashing through his body, he's shaking. Nick can't look away from the helpless, involuntary shudders of it all, Harry's body trembling through it, head thrown back, mouth open wide, tits in a tremor. God, he's gorgeous. He's gorgeous as himself, he's gorgeous like this, and Nick, drunk on more than just vodka and a whole load of sex, thinks – just for a moment; just for a brief crazy moment – I could love him like this; I would love him like this.

When Harry's done and lying limp and spread-eagled on Nick's bed, Nick tells him exactly that, quiet words whispered right into Harry's ear, their fingers intertwined between Harry's legs.

Harry whimpers and grabs Nick's side and pants warmth into his skin, puff after puff after puff.

*

"Nick!"

Nick shudders out of sleep. Or, tries to, but it's more of a jolt without any actual movement, because he's fairly certain he is forever glued to his sheets now. His face is, at least, definitely connected to the pillow via some crusted drool.

"Wassit," he manages and makes to shove a pillow over his face, because clearly this is no moment to be awake, not when he's ninety three percent asleep, and seven percent wishing he still was. "Leamelone."

"Niiiick, Nick, Nick," Harry's voice whines in his ear, and something's off about it, but Nick doesn't know what, exactly, and it's entirely possible that it's just that Harry is talking to him when they should both be unconscious. Honestly, this child.

Then something familiar and quite hard pokes the back of Nick's thighs, slipping in between, and oh.

"Oh, thank God," Nick says and turns over before he's even fully awake, cracking both eyes open.

Harry's beaming at him. Harry, his Harry, the Harry that comes complete with large dick and big hands and awkward giant feet, and the next moment, Nick's hands are all over him, testing out his tight little nipples, skimming down to say hello to his prick, his bollocks, tickling Harry's toes with his own. Harry laughs through it. "I'm back!"

Nick's chest sort of gives out from relief. "I'm going to blow you now," he announces. He pushes at Harry until he's laid out on his back, dick pointed north, and Nick's able to shimmy down his body like his dick's a compass.

Harry's laugh is breathless, hand landing in Nick's hair. "Mmmkay," he agrees and settles back, getting comfy, apparently.

The first taste of his dick on Nick's tongue is heaven. It's not that he hadn't enjoyed the novelty of Harry's cunt – all signs point to he very much did. It's just that, Harry's dick in Nick's mouth. Nick groans, barely awake, every molecule in his body zapping with desire, all aligning under his skin, toppling like dominos, yes yes yes.

This is no novelty; this is what he needs.

He centers himself, wraps a hand around the shaft, then licks at the slit. Harry's so hard, dark and shiny with Nick's spit, his own precome. His voice is murmuring encouragements, gasping. Nick plays with the head for a bit, getting himself re-familiarised, as if they'd been parted for a year instead of a day, then goes down.

Down he goes, his mouth taking over. He had a moment, sometime last night in between fingering Harry and fucking him, that he could have, possibly, gone down on him, but he just hadn't been brave enough. He'd tasted nearly all of Harry by then – his tits, his belly; had licked his thighs, given his bum a few good nips. But Christ, the taste of Harry's cock in his mouth now gives him a full-body shudder.

It feels so fucking right; it tastes so fucking good. He doesn't mess about, either, and goes right for the best party-trick known to man and deep-throats. He loses sense of time and place, the crown hitting the back of his throat, eyes shut, hands clenched tight around Harry's hips. Harry's mouthy, cursing up a storm above him, and Nick can feel each twitch of his hip flexors, each tremor, each throb of his heartbeat right on Nick's tongue. It's wet, messy, and after a while, fast and mind-numbingly gorgeous.

"Nick, fuck, fuckfuckfuck – oh God," Harry pants and Nick entertains the thought of pulling off and getting Harry to fuck him, feel his cock everywhere Nick wants it, but Harry's too far gone, Nick knows he won't last. More's the pity, but they've got all day. Harry's just so good at fucking Nick totally blind for hours. Maybe tonight.

When Harry starts to come, he doesn't warn Nick, but Nick's got the signs down. The clench of Harry's fist in Nick's hair is one, the pulsing of the vein in his mouth another. Nick pulls up and leaves the head in his mouth, taking over by hand, and God, it feels so solid and good in his fist. Harry cries out, the sound nearly a sob, and floods Nick's mouth. It's bitter, hot, and nearly chokes him. Nick milks him through it, catching as much down his throat as he can. He hums his way through it.

Afterwards, he falls forward onto Harry's hip and feels his heartbeat return to somewhat normal. He thinks his ears pop, and his breathing's ragged, filled with sex and Harry, Harry, Harry.

He's so fucking hard for him. He will never not be hard for him, he thinks in a daze.

"Fuck, that was – fuck, what can I do, what do you want?" Harry's voice is still uneven, raspy and low.

Nick wants a lot.

"You – seriously – Nick, come here, come up –" Harry knees Nick up off himself, and Nick grumbles but allows himself to be manhandled. "God, you're fucking amazing," Harry tells him as he shifts their bodies to his liking. Nick finally understands what Harry's after and knees his way up until he's straddling Harry's chest. The view looking down is quite lovely. "I mean, if I can come this hard from just a blowjob," Harry continues, running his hands up Nick's thighs. "Fuck." Harry swallows visibly, looking up at Nick through half-hooded eyes, biting his lower lip.

Nick feels compelled to swipe a thumb across that mouth, allowing Harry to catch it between his teeth, caress it with a flick of his tongue. "It is never just a blowjob, Harold," Nick tells him with a serious rasp, the ghost of Harry's dick still tickling the back of his throat. "When somebody puts your wang in their mouth and makes you come, it is a privilege, young’un."

Harry's grin grows crooked and cheeky around Nick's thumb, and then Nick can only watch as Harry sucks Nick's thumb in and shuts his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering, eyebrows drawing in. He's flushed from cheek to chest.

"Cheeky monster," Nick breathes and scoots up just enough that his hard dick is at chin level with Harry. "You gonna return the favour, or what?"

Harry lets his thumb go with a wet pop, and opens his mouth with deliberate eye-contact. The flat of his tongue is a clear and unabashed invitation.

Nick has never not taken an invitation like this. He only has to inch forward and guide his cock until Harry's got his lips wrapped around the head. Nick sighs and grips the headboard, everything in his body beyond ready. He loves this moment, the moment before his brain checks out, when he is aware of every molecule in his body being primed – his mouth flooding in anticipation, his skin zapping, his bones just on this side of buzzing.

Harry wraps his hands around Nick's hips and pulls him in, and God in heaven, his hands fit exactly right this time, and Nick tips forward on a gasp. His blood boils.

Harry knows his way around Nick's cock, and he clearly loves it. He's a bit of a show-off in bed, really, but Nick loves him for it, because it gets him this. Harry sucks hard, and takes control over Nick's body in a way that allows Nick's brain to bugger straight off. He's pulled in, pushed around. When his hips want to snap forward, Harry's already got him, trapped him in his own rhythm, and Nick cries out, forehead resting against the wall.

When Harry runs a hand down Nick's thigh and prods, Nick spreads his legs.

When Harry guides Nick's hips away, Nick goes.

When Harry slips a finger into his mouth alongside Nick's dick, Nick groans and shuts his eyes, because fucking yes.

"Fuck."

Harry gets his finger wet with spit and Nick's precome and Nick can't even make a single noise when Harry finds his arsehole with it and pushes the tip in, blunt and hard. Fuck.

Nick scrunches up his face, his voice breaking. Harry's got him pinned, surrounded, exactly where he probably wants him, and Nick can't feel anything but pulsating, hot pleasure. Harry's mouth is so fucking wet around him, wet and tight and constantly moving. The shift of Nick's hip manages to drive Harry's finger further in, and Nick gasps when Harry finds the spot, just like that, oh, there it is, and Nick's skin gets set on fire.

Relentless, Harry keeps going, Nick well and truly trapped between his mouth and finger, and all the feeling has drained from places not being touched by Harry. Nick floats and feels only the unending heat of Harry's mouth and the incredible pressure of his finger. His hands have gone numb, his feet are possibly asleep, his rubbish knees are currently without feeling. Sex is a great anesthetic, apparently.

Nick bites his lips when he feels his orgasm building, and there's a reluctance about it. He thinks his dick is in accord with him on this, sorry, mate, I want this to go on forever, too, but I'm only one man, and Nick lets go of the headboard long enough to grasp Harry's greasy curls in a fist and keep him there as his balls draw up and spasms of incredible pleasure ping through every cell he's got.

He comes long and hard and loud, Harry's free hand digging into his hip, his mouth still working overtime. Nick feels it when it becomes too much for Harry, feels the slip of his come from Harry's mouth even as he's bent half over him, forehead pressed against the cold wall. He makes a move to withdraw, but Harry makes a noise of protest and doesn't let him go until Nick's done coming, and then some.

"Shhh, babe, it's okay," Nick murmurs nonsensically, and manages to extricate himself. When he looks down, thighs still gripping Harry's chest, Harry's face is flushed, and he's looking up at Nick with glassy eyes, like he's in a trance. Nick shifts and looks back and sure enough, Harry's hard as a rock again, leaking already. "Fuck," Nick says, his voice gone, then winces as Harry slips his finger from his arse. He falls sideways onto the bed, clears his throat, gives it a moment, then says, "You should fuck me with that."

Harry licks his lips, looking at him in a way that makes it clear he's having a difficult time with things like hearing and talking and thinking, then lunges for the bedside table and nearly falls off the bed in the process. Nick laughs himself breathless.

Harry fucks Nick into the mattress, one hand bearing down on his shoulder, one hand holding his hips up. God, he's missed getting fucked. It isn't like it's a daily occurrence or anything, it's just that Harry's so fucking good at it, like an idiot savant who's managed to be coordinated about this one particular thing in a world where he trips over his feet getting out of bed in the morning or walking in a straight line.

Yesterday, when Harry lacked a dick, it was almost like a phantom ache for Nick, which is ridiculous and also probably quite selfish, but Nick's never claimed to be otherwise. He revels in Harry's thick dick pounding into him now, sending tiny gasps and grunts falling from Nick's lips on every even thrust, wet and easy and hot. Nick lifts his hips up higher, grips the sheets, and grins.

"'S your reward for being an excellent boyfriend yesterday," Harry murmurs, his voice clearly shot, as he bends over Nick, speeding up. Nick can't help snorting. "Seriously." Harry's breath fans over Nick's over-sensitised skin, and Nick shivers beneath him, grin slipping off his face. "You were so hot like that, giving me what I needed. Wish you could be hard now, could come with my dick in you like this." Nick feels a bite to his shoulder blade and his dick gives a half-hearted attempt at waking up.

"Still good, this," he manages to say. "Loveyourdick," he tells the sheets and shuts his eyes, overwhelmed by Harry all around him.

"It loves you back," Harry informs him a bit breathless, then a moment later, he grunts and drops his entire weight into Nick as he starts to come, whimpering. Nick's mouth drops open. His throat is dried out. Harry trembles above him, his scent all over Nick, invading his nostrils, his mouth, and it's so hot and masculine and Harry.

When Harry's done, he doesn't pull out right away, just lies like a dead weight on top of Nick. It's cuddly and all, but Nick's got to breathe. "Ugh, all right," Nick manages through his constricted lungs. "You're gonna need to –"

"Sorry, sorry," Harry mumbles and slowly and laboriously rolls off him, pulling out. Nick winces, then relaxes back into the sheets. Christ, he's sore.

Harry goes through the whole getting-rid-of-condom and wiping-himself-down rigmarole rather slowly, and Nick just watches him, blinking like an owl, feeling rather outside of himself. He doesn't know what time it is, barely knows the day, if he's honest with himself. He thinks it might still be the weekend. Lucky them.

Harry finally gets back into bed and wrestles them both under the covers before slipping under Nick's arm and tickling Nick's chest with his hair and breath.

"So," Nick says after an indeterminate amount of time spent just breathing, and clears his throat. Beneath his arm, Harry's lying spent and sweaty, skin sticking to Nick's. Eventually they'll have to do things like showering and regaining their human dignity, and possibly some laundry because the bed seriously reeks of spunk and similar, but for now, Nick just lays there, boneless. "That was an experience."

"Astute observation there, Nicholas," Harry mumbles. Nick smacks him one.

"Now he's dropping off after one orgasm," he complains. "Sure, as a girl, you were just up for it always. Maybe I will switch teams."

"Oy," Harry says, and appears to rouse himself a little. "Not every girl wants to keep going, you know." He sounds all haughty and knowledgeable, and it's weird how it just makes Nick love him even more. Christ, Harry's done his head in.

"Stop derailing the conversation," Nick says, then settles back into his pillow, watching the ceiling. He sort of wishes he had a cigarette.

"What conversation?" Nick's fairly certain Harry's two seconds away from drooling on his chest. He squeezes his shoulder and pinches him a bit. "Ooow," Harry says slowly, but doesn't move away. "The what was-it-like-as-a-girl conversation?"

"No, the one where I had a weird aubergine craving," Nick rolls his eyes. Honestly.

Harry lifts his head and attempts to peer at Nick. "You had a weird aubergine craving?"

"You were a girl, Harold," Nick reminds him, because he's got some things he maybe wants to talk out. "That was bloody weird."

He feels Harry shrugging underneath his hand. "Not that weird, I mean –"

"Oh, of course," Nick rolls his eyes. Not that weird at all.

"I mean, you know. I'd sort of wished for it," Harry says, like it is completely normal to not only wish for being turned into a girl (and Nick, in fact, has had similar thoughts, back when he'd been a confused fourteen year old with an uncontrollable boner for boners) but then actually being turned into one.

"You what?" Nick's voice goes quite high, but he can't really help it.

Harry disentangles himself from Nick's slack grip and props himself up over Nick's chest, dimples on full display. "At the fair, the night before?"

"Yeah?" Nick's pretty sure he couldn't close his mouth if he wanted to.

"There was a wotsit, like, a mini wish fountain or whatever it was, right, and I threw in a penny and just thought, it'd be cool to be a girl for a day, and –"

"And?" Nick prompts, only a bit hysterical.

"And, well, it worked, didn't it?" Harry's grin widens. "Sick, right?"

Nick just stares at him. He knows he's just staring, but he can't stop just staring, because Harry had literally made a wish at a tourist trap and it bloody well came true. "You –" He doesn't even know what. "Are you a cartoon? Or, like, what was that film, the one where the fairy princess falls into dreary reality? Are you Amy Whatsherface?"

"Amy Wha- no, look, I just ended up being lucky," Harry shrugs. Nick slaps his own face and thinks that perhaps this is the weekend where he drinks before eleven in the morning two days in a row. "Anyway, was fun, right?" Harry says, like it's normal, and gives Nick a slow, sweet smile.

Maybe this is Nick's life from now on – improbable things happening just because Harry wants them to. Nick did, after all, fall in love with him in the first place.

"Yes, Harry," he finally answers and sighs, grinning. "It was fun."

"But," Harry turns thoughtful. "I'm sort of really glad it was just one day? Didn't really feel much like a girl…"

Nick isn't sure he's catching the full drift here. "What'd you mean?"

"I mean, like." Harry pauses. Because it's Harry, the pause lasts about a million years, and Nick can practically see the wheels turning in his brain. "I had on a girl's body, and it was fun, and different, and like – the sex was fucking amazing, right, but – I don't fancy I'd make a good girl? Didn't feel entirely right."

Nick shifts on the bed so they're face to face, shoulders pressed into pillows. When he raises his knees, they bump against Harry's. "So, you were a boy in a girl's body."

"Exactly," Harry smiles, and his face seems to clear. "So, I'm glad that was temporary and all. Feel like myself now."

Nick thinks about it as he traces the ink on Harry's biceps with a single finger. It's all so complicated, this sexuality business, but then, not so complicated at all. When he'd given girls a go, it hadn't been awful. It just hadn't been right. Yesterday, Harry had had a girl's disguise on, fully and completely, but Nick had wanted him, just the same. Nearly the same. So very close to the same.

"I thought of you as a boy in a girl's body," he says, licking his lips. "And still wanted you." He clears his throat. "Didn't think I would, but I did."

Harry's grin grows cheeky once more. He taps a finger against Nick's soft dick, then cups it in his hand. A shiver runs down Nick's spine, that sort of teeny tiny tingle of more-to-come. "I know. You were brilliant."

Nick scrunches up his face and forces himself not to hide it in the pillow. He can still feel his ears get a little hot at the tips. "Shut up, Styles."

Harry inches forward on the pillow enough that when Nick leans in, he only has to go a millimeter to bump their noses. "It was sick, mate," Harry whispers and finds Nick's lips with his own. Nick hums in response. Their kiss buzzes with it.

"Maybe the fair will be back sometime," Nick says after a while and runs all five fingernails down Harry's chest, not looking him in the eye.

"Yeah," Harry says and Nick can feel him grinning. "Yeah. Maybe."

Nick grins in response.

***